


Her Majesty's a Pretty Nice Girl

by Fintan



Category: Sterek - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beatles - Freeform, Birthday, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Summer Solstice, Wolves, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:05:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fintan/pseuds/Fintan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one sneaks a birthday past Stiles Stilinski. (He's looking at you, Derek.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Majesty's a Pretty Nice Girl

It was the second week in January and the sound of the wind seemed like the world sighing in a post-Christmas depression. Derek sat in his battered armchair reading when suddenly the loft door banged open. 

“How could you?” Stiles demanded. He had barely entered Derek’s loft before pointing an accusing finger. Derek briefly wondered if indignation was measureable and, if so, would Stiles’ current level of indignation break the scale?

 

“What?  What did I do?” Derek asked.

 

“Oh, no.  Don’t you even try that innocent act with me, mister.  I am not having it. We both know what you did and I think you should go to your room and think about it.”

 

Derek looked around and shrugged.   “It’s a loft, Stiles, I think I’m good here. Are you sure you don’t want to give me some kind of hint?”

 

“So that’s how you’re going to play it, Hale? Fine, fine.  You do that.”  Stiles stomped to the door, then turned and stomped back.  “There is something I need to do and don’t you even try to stop me.” 

 

Before Derek could even flinch, Stiles yanked off his backpack, unzipped it, and – pulled out -- a present. It was nicely wrapped, even had a bow. “You take this and you open it,” Stiles commanded in his most commanding voice.

 

“But we played Secret Santa on Christmas.  Someone got me “Wolf Hall,” which is both a cheap joke and a great read.  Apparently someone knows I like historical novels.”  Derek tried not to smile directly at Stiles. “Everyone seemed to be happy, even Peter.”

 

“I know!” exclaimed Stiles. “He loved ‘The Lion King’ DVD.  Does the man not understand subtext? Has he missed the obvious Hamlet reference? I mean, he is the evil uncle – wait, you do not get to distract me, Derek.”

 

Derek shrugged. “I’m just saying that I think we’re done with Christmas presents.”

 

“Oh, really,” sneered Stiles?  “Oh, reeaallly? Take a close look at the wrapping paper on this present.  Mean anything to you?”

 

Derek glanced at the sheets of newspaper that were scotch-taped around the package.  “Well,” he said peering closely, “Macy’s is having a sale on Gold Toe socks.”

 

“Big picture, Hale, big picture.”

 

“Okay,” Derek said, “uh…you ran out of Christmas wrapping paper?”

 

“Never,” Stiles declared. “I bought a 500 foot roll of Star Wars Christmas wrapping paper that will never run out, even if Scott and my Dad keep trying to sneak it into the trash.”

 

“I’m stumped, then,” shrugged Derek.

 

“The point is that it’s NOT Christmas wrapping paper.”

 

“Okay,” Derek replied evenly.

 

“On what other occasions do people usually get gifts, I ask you, Derek Hale?”

 

“Oh,” said Derek, his voice gone soft with recognition.

 

“Yeah, ‘oh,’ said Stiles.  “Your birthday was on Christmas and you didn’t even tell us.  My Dad mentions it in passing.  He probably knows from reading your police file.  Once again, sorry about that. Nevertheless, you committed major suckitude and I am so mad at you.  Now open your lousy gift. I don’t mean the gift is lousy.  Just open it.”

 

Stiles tapped his foot imperiously.  There was no way out. Derek tore off the wrapping paper to discover – a framed photo of Queen Elizabeth, circa 1955, very young and beautiful, in a frame that was the worse for wear.

 

“Queen Elizabeth. Uh, thanks, Stiles.  Haven’t I seen this hanging behind the cash register at the Goodwill store?”

 

“They drove a hard bargain. Well, no.  They kind of gave it to me for almost nothing, but that’s not the point. It is the perfect gift for you.”

 

“Okay,” reasoned Derek. “You do know that I’m American, born right here in Beacon Hills? I mean, God save the Queen and all, but, uh…?”

 

“Stop being so literal,” scolded Stiles.  “It’s not just a photo, it’s a clue.  Because it’s coming and there’s no escape.”

 

“What’s coming, Stiles?”

 

“That’s for you to figure out, my birthday-concealing friend.  In the meantime…”

 

Stiles pulled a hammer and a nail out of his backpack, found a suitable place in the kitchen drywall, and then proceeded to hang the photo. 

 

“Make no attempts to remove this.  I know where you live and I have ways.” Derek did not argue this point.

 

“It is coming!” Stile declared dramatically, then picked up his backpack and exited the loft.  Later that night when Derek was taking out the trash, he discovered a helium balloon, slightly deflated, hanging from the door handle.  “Happy birthday!” it read.  Underneath, in felt pen, someone had written “Sourwolf.”

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

In the weeks and months that followed, Derek would occasionally enter the loft to discover members of the pack gathered around the photo.  They looked highly amused, which was deeply irritating.

 

At the end of one meeting, Derek asked Scott to stay for a moment of private conversation.  Scott gave him a small grin and with the kindest eyes possible said, “I’m not going to explain the picture.”

 

Derek sighed, “But you know what it means?”

 

“We all do,” Scott smiled, “well, everyone but you.”

 

“I find that kind of hostile.”

 

“Don’t. How about this?  I’ll tell you a different secret that is known by everyone but you.”  Scott put his arm around Derek’s shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. “There are people in this world who are deeply glad that you were born. I should know. I’m one of them.”

 

Scott gave Derek’s shoulder a small squeeze, a warm smile, then left the loft.

 

That night Derek lay awake in bed as Scott’s words ran over and over in his mind. He wanted those words to be true, but there was a kind of darkness around his heart, too, that had nothing to do with a nemeton and it refused their passage.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

Derek’s eyes opened to the morning light of December 25th.  He was thirteen now and he had to tell his still childish heart to calm down.  It was just another birthday and birthdays were for kids.

 

A jellybean smacked against his forehead.  Ow.  He looked up to see a deeply exasperated Cora standing at the foot of his bed holding a bag of jellybeans.

 

“You’re not creepy at all,” Derek said.

 

“Do you know what time it is?” Cora asked.

 

Derek glanced at the nightstand clock.  “Uh, 6:02.  I need at least two more hours of sleep.”

 

“Derrrrek,” whined Cora, “You know the rules.  First your birthday breakfast, then the Christmas gifts.”

 

“Maybe later,” said Derek, yawning theatrically. A handful of jellybeans pelted his head.

 

“That is no way to treat a birthday boy,” Derek said as he pulled the blankets over his head.  It was a snug little fortress, but not so snug that he couldn’t enjoy the sound of his tortured sister whining.  That would always be music to his ears.

 

Family surrounded the kitchen table when Cora finally dragged him downstairs.  He got cheers and applause for just walking in the room. Derek tried to maintain his newly minted sense of cool. 

 

“Morning,” said Derek.  “Hey, I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but we don’t have to have my birthday breakfast first.  Birthdays are really for kids and I know everyone wants to exchange presents, so why don’t we just do that?”

 

The quiet in the room was deafening.  Finally Peter cleared his throat and said, “You do realize that I made German apple pancakes just for you?”

 

“Oh,” said Derek, who, until that moment, didn’t realize that you could actually feel your resolve weakening.

 

“And what about the family’s favorite meal?” demanded Derek’s mother.

 

Derek was confused.  “Didn’t Uncle Peter make apple pancakes for everyone?”

 

Derek’s father stood up from the table. “Oh,” he said, “we’re not talking about the pancakes.”  He made a slight motion with his hand and the rest of the family rose to their feet.  “We’re talking about …”

 

“Derek sandwich!” yelled Laura.

 

Derek barely had a split second before the attack commenced.  He ran shrieking for his life, but, hey, werewolves.  They caught him three feet shy of the front door.  It was hopeless. He was surrounded – and kissed and pinched and hugged and tickled and mussed.  He was the inert center of a Hale love fest.  And maybe he did cry a little for happiness, but his face was buried into his Dad’s chest and he’d never tell.  His Dad was the best.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

After the fire…

 

After the fire a good birthday was when he managed to feel nothing at all.

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

No one would admit to it, but Derek recognized Stiles’ handiwork.  One morning on his way through the kitchen he noticed that the photo of Queen Elizabeth had been altered.  Someone had glued goggle eyes over the Queen’s, which was slightly scary, as was the message on the index card taped to the frame.

 

“It is coming!”

 

In March a second card was added.  “Tick…,” it read. In April, a third card, “Tick…tick…”, and in May a fourth, “Tick…tick…tick…”  The “BOOM” card mysteriously appeared in the third week of June.  With it was an envelope that contained coordinates, a date and a time.

 

Which is how Derek found himself on the following Saturday driving almost four hours through John Muir Wilderness in Kings Canyon National Forest to the crest of the Sierras. At a trailhead, Derek parked his car.  There was a “Happy Birthday” balloon attached to post with an index card that read, “Follow my scent, oh beast of the forest.”

 

Derek climbed the trail for almost an hour. The views of the mountain wilderness were breathtaking. He could feel his wolf stirring with pleasure. Wilderness, ah wilderness. Whatever Stiles was planning, this alone made the trip worthwhile. 

 

When he found the campsite, Stiles was sleeping, shirtless, inside a small pitch tent. From the looks of things, he had made the trek the day before to claim the site.  There was a small picnic table with a basket of food and, incongruously, a shiny banner hung between the trees with letters that spelled out “Happy Birthday.”

 

Whose birthday was it, he wondered?  Has to be someone in the pack. Derek chastised himself.  He should know the birthday of everyone in the pack.  Maybe the twins?  Probably the twins.  He still didn’t like them, never would.  Still, if he could live with Peter, he could live with anything.

 

Derek turned back to the tent. Stiles was still deeply asleep.  Was it the light in the high Sierras?  Maybe – or maybe Stiles simply was what Derek tried so hard not to notice: beautiful.  The dark hair, the pale skin, the long, lean lines of his body.   Derek’s wolf wanted him. Derek had known that for a long time, but Derek was at war with his wolf. Those it had desired before had been fatally bad choices.  There were issues of trust.

 

And then Derek had a moment in the light.  A realization.  It wasn’t just his wolf that wanted Stiles.  He, Derek the man, wanted him, too.  For the first time in his life, both parts of him wanted the same thing. The shock of this realization took his breath away.

 

“Creeper,” mumbled Stiles. “Creeping creeper who creeps.” Stiles rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.  “Not that I seem to mind. I would totally stare at you in your sleep if I could get away with it. Do you sleep naked? Forget I asked that, but do you?”

 

Derek’s heart clenched.

 

Stiles clambered to his feet.  “I’m going to pretend to be angry with you so that I can make unreasonable demands that you feel shamed to obey. Now go sit at the picnic bench.”

 

Derek obeyed because … because Stiles.  Stiles pulled on a t-shirt and emerged from the tent carrying a backpack. 

 

“Whose birthday is it,” Derek asked?

 

“Ah,” said Stiles.  He rifled through the backpack and emerged with…

 

“Is that a ukulele?” asked an astonished Derek.

 

“Do you like the Beatles?” asked Stiles.  “I know your parents did.  Peter told me.  Actually all our parents loved the Beatles, which means we do, too.”

 

“Is that a ukulele?’ Derek repeated in undiminished astonishment.

 

“Hush,” replied Stiles.  “My playing sucks and my voice is pitch-free, but your job is to finally solve the mystery. “

 

Stiles cleared his throat, plucked a few strings, and began to sing.

 

            “Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, but she doesn’t have a lot to say.

             Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, but she changes from day to day.

             I want to tell her that I love her a lot

             But I’ve got to get a belly full of wine.

             Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl.

             Some day I’m going to make her mine, oh yeah.

             Some day I’m going to make her mine.”

 

Stiles put down the ukulele. “Figured it out?”

 

“It’s the twins, right? But I don’t get the connection to Queen Elizabeth or the Beatles.  I wish you’d told me, Stiles.  I didn’t get them anything.”

 

Stiles sighed dramatically. “Happy birthday, Derek.”

 

“Uh,” said Derek, “my birthday is December 25th.”

 

“Welcome to your new birthday, Derek.  Look, all respect to your parents, but December is the single worst month of the year to have a birthday, as gifts tend to get deferred to Christmas, but to actually have your birthday on the 25th?  No. Just no. Stiles has decreed. Henceforth, it is the law of the land.

 

“You can’t actually change your birth date,” Derek countered reasonably.

 

“And that’s where your wrong, my fine furry friend.  When is Queen Elizabeth’s birthday?”

 

“Not sure,” Derek said.  “Sometime in the summer.”

 

“Ah,” Stiles replied, “that’s when her birthday is celebrated, early June usually, but she was born on the oh so wet and damp 21st of April.  Not a great day for a barbecue, kind of soggy for a village fete. So in her infinite generosity, she moved the celebration to June.  I say we follow her munificent example.”

 

This was never going to work, but Derek couldn’t stop smiling.  “Okay,” said Derek. “Where’s my cake?”

 

“Cake? Pffft,” said Stiles.  “We revise our traditions; we don’t discard them.  You sit there while I make you up something more special.”

 

There was nothing else in the world Derek wanted to do more.  Which was good as it took Stiles forever to get the fire started, warm the griddle, and mix the ingredients that included batter and…apples.

 

Stiles glanced at Derek’s red-rimmed eyes.  “So I heard Peter talk about your favorite food once and I thought maybe – and now I’m thinking yes?”  Derek, speechless, simply nodded.

 

It took forever to cook.  Stiles slid a forlorn looking pancake on to a paper plate and placed it before Derek.  “Yeah, so maybe I didn’t take altitude into my cooking calculations, but there’s syrup and…”

 

Derek stuffed the entire pancake in his both, chewed effortfully, and forced himself to swallow.

 

Stiles watched with wide eyes.  “So, how was it?”

 

“Terrible,” replied Derek.  “Also, the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

 

“Huh,” Stiles replied.  “Maybe if I…”   The press of Derek’s lips against Stiles’ prevented all further speech.

 

“There’s lots more,” whispered Stiles eventually.

 

“One pancake was plenty,” said Derek politely.

 

“I wasn’t talking about pancakes,” Stiles replied.

 

The rest of the afternoon was as glorious as the breeze and the sunlight on their naked bodies. For a long time afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms as the light drifted toward evening.

 

“Why today?” asked Derek.  “Of all the dates, why today for my new birthday?”

 

“Because it’s the perfect date,” said Stiles happily. He sat up so that he could look directly into Derek’s eyes.  The happiness pouring out of him made Derek weak and nearly intoxicated.

 

“It is the summer solstice.  There is more daylight on this day then any other day in the year.  I want more light for you, Derek. But there’s something else about midsummer’s night eve. All this light, I think it can make the dark more beautiful.  Light and dark meet here in the twilight and in this twilight, there can be magic.” 

 

Stiles stood up and pulled Derek to his feet.  “Let the wolf out, Derek. Let him out to greet the moon.”

 

Stiles pulled Derek toward a clearing with a long view of the wilderness. A sliver of moon was just beginning to peak over the horizon.  The pull of it was exhilarating.  His teeth began to chatter. 

 

Stiles smiled as he stepped away. “Howl, wolf.  Let the whole wild world know that you exist.”

 

The transformation was overpowering and immediate.  The wolf glanced back at Stiles who laughed with delight and then tilted his head back and howled.  Then coughed.

 

“Pathetic, huh?  Show me how it’s done, wolf man.”

 

Derek howled and in that howl there were so many things: rage, heartbreak and longing and regret and unspeakable sorrow. He howled his throat raw.  This isn’t what he meant to do.  This isn’t how he wanted to respond to the love and kindness of this day, but its all his wolf had to say.  His howl was a long lament until he could howl no more.

 

Across the canyon, somewhere in the trees, a wolf answered his cry. Then another wolf, then another and another. And and and – he knew these cries!  The wolves were racing toward him from all around the forest, but this wasn’t a challenge or a fight.

 

This was pack.  He turned to look at Stiles in surprise.  Stiles smiled and shrugged.  “What’s a werewolf birthday without a werewolf party?”

 

They broke through the trees and encircled Derek and Stiles.  Scott. Isaac. Cora. Peter. The twins. Lydia, Allison and Danny ran in behind them. Stiles put his arm across the wolf’s shoulder and everyone else leaned into Derek. 

 

Together their howls filled the sky.  It was terrifying and thrilling.  It was music to a rhythm in Derek’s battered heart that said, “not alone, you are not alone, you are one with us and you are not alone.”

 

Finally they stopped, their throats ragged, and simply pressed into one another, panting.  Stiles lifted his head, startled, his eyes wide with wonder. “What is that?” he whispered into Derek’s ear.

 

Howls, but from some other forest in some other world. Sometimes on the night of the solstice, the curtain between the worlds is very thin and sometimes it parts and we can speak across the divide.

 

Or howl.

 

Boyd.  Erica.  Laura.  His beautiful parents.  Howling. To him. Derek could hear them clearly.  He felt their cries in his bones. “We are still with you, Derek.  We love you and we will never never never leave you.”

 

The pack thrummed in amazement.  Nothing had been lost.  They were all one.  Derek’s great, broken heart ached in his chest.  He leaned into Stiles chest and pressed his face. Maybe he cried a little in sorrow and in joy, but Stiles would never tell. 

 

Stiles was the best.


End file.
